Promises
by Maria Whitman-Menzel-Malfoy
Summary: Draco had Harry promise something that was out of both of their hands. Now that promise was broken and Draco is a broken man. How can he go on?


Promises

Summary: Harry promised Draco something, and now that promise was broken and Draco is a broken man. How can he live life?

Not a happy fic.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Inspired by my boyfriend, who made me promise him something and a thought came up. I've knocked on so much wood, my knuckles are bruised :(

A/N 2: They are super OOC and I'm sorry, but they're more lovey-dovey and SUPER DUPER chill.

* * *

"What are you thinking about?" Harry asked.

Draco and Harry were lying on a picnic blanket by a grove of orange trees next to a bridge over a small, handsome creek, watching the sun set. Harry looked up at the silent blonde and studied his features. They were somber and serene, as usual. It seemed that Draco always wore a mask of cool confidence. It was a mask that Harry tried to tear down at every opportunity.

Draco chuckled and Harry saw his eyes move over his face. Who would have thought that they would have fallen in love so completely? It seemed like only yesterday that they were dueling in the corridors of Hogwarts and playing merciless pranks on each other.

"Nothing, Harry. Don't worry about it," Draco said soothingly and Harry lay back on Draco's shoulder.

He looked up at the sky and wondered what his lover was thinking about. It seemed that he had been more quiet than usual all day. They had had a great picnic with a bit of arguing and laughing and feeding each other and throwing food at each other. And yet, Draco had seemed a tad reserved. Harry longed to know the reason. But he knew better than to pester Draco. Draco liked to think for lengthy periods of time and then refuse to talk about what he had been pondering. It was frustrating for Harry, but he knew that it was one of Draco's quirky charms that Harry loved.

The sun had set and the moon had risen before they decided to pack up and head to their home. They lived in a reasonable loft close to Malfoy Manor, where Draco's parents lived healthily and happily. They liked to visit the elder Malfoy's whenever they could. They were a bit dotty, to say the least, but that gave them charm beyond the glamour of their riches.

They entered their dark house giggling. Draco turned on the lights and they threw down their picnic things.

"Ice cream?" Harry asked eagerly and Draco rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Harry, we can have some ice cream before –"

But Harry was already rushing for their expansive kitchen before Draco could call for a house elf. Draco leaned casually against the wall while Harry consulted the freezer.

"Which kind do I want, love?" Harry asked.

"I don't know, Harry. Which kind of ice cream do you want?" Draco said as though he were speaking to a small child.

Harry shot him a glare around the freezer door and Draco smiled fondly.

It had been a hot summer day when Harry had first asked Draco to run to the muggle store for some ice cream.

"What's wrong with the wizard ice cream?" Draco had wondered aloud.

"Nothing's _wrong_ with it. I'm just in the mood for some cookie dough ice cream..."

Ever since then, Harry had "been in the mood" for mint chocolate chip, peanut butter, coffee, toffee, strawberry, birthday cake, and Neapolitan ice cream. Draco refused to get any more until all the ice cream they had was gone. Now it was tradition for them to have a bowl of ice cream before heading off to bed.

Harry plopped down on a high stool at the counter with a large bowl filled with strawberry ice cream. Draco chose a smaller bowl of peanut butter ice cream.

They ate slowly, savoring their ice cream. A few times Harry would watch Draco eat. It was a spectacular sight to see Draco handle the spoon so delicately and manage to eat ice cream with an air of superiority, elegance, and sensuality. Every once in a while, Harry would catch himself staring. If Draco did notice, he didn't say anything. If he didn't, he was quite blind.

Finally, Harry finished his bowl and looked up to see Draco standing. His eyes flickered down the hall and landed softly back on Harry's face. Harry's breath caught as he observed Draco standing there, looking at him from underneath his eyelashes, a slow smile curving his lips. A prickling sensation went down Harry's spine and he felt himself getting hard. He stood and walked over to Draco, pushing him none too gently against the wall and capturing his smirking mouth into a passionate kiss. After a while, Harry pulled back unexpectedly, looking up into Draco's eyes. His cheeks were flushed, his lips slightly swollen, and his eyes sparkling. Harry took Draco's hand and dragged him to their bedroom.

"Draco?"

Draco was shaken from his reverie. He looked around, slightly disoriented. It was Granger and her husband, Weasley. Draco smirked as he realized that would make her a Weasley as well. The smirk fell flat almost immediately as he looked up into her face. Her eyes were no longer filled with tears, but there was sympathy and pity instead. Draco ground his teeth and turned his gaze away from those eyes. Hermione shifted uneasily.

"The reception is going to be at our house in about an hour. Do come, Draco," she said softly.

Draco nodded to show that he had heard her, but didn't commit to any sort of dinner party. The couple walked away then, uncomfortable, no doubt, to be around Draco. Draco looked up and noticed that he was the only one left in the hall. He stood up on shaky legs and took a step towards the mahogany box surrounded by flowers and pictures. An iron fist clenched around his heart as he thought yet again about that night...

Harry snuggled close to Draco as their breathing settled and their sweat dried. Draco absentmindedly caressed Harry's arm. Draco had nearly fallen asleep when Harry whispered his name.

"Draco?"

"What is it, Harry?" Draco asked, his eyes closed.

"What were you thinking about earlier today?"

For a minute, Draco considered not saying anything. Then Harry turned around and looked up at Draco with his beautiful, trusting green eyes and Draco knew he had to say something.

"I was thinking about rules," Draco said.

"Rules?" Harry asked quizzically.

"Yeah, well, we don't have any silly, controlling rules for each other. And I really love that," Draco mused.

"Well, now that you've said that, I think we should have one rule for each other," Harry said, smiling.

"Alright, what's your rule for me?" Draco asked, worrying slightly.

Harry thought about it for a moment. Draco imagined him going through the usual relationship rules, trying to choose between the obvious ones and the serious ones.

"My rule is that you have to be honest with me. I'm sure I could forgive you for nearly anything you could possibly do, as long as you're honest about it," Harry said thoughtfully.

Draco smiled warmly and kissed Harry's forehead.

"I promise to be honest, Harry."

"Alright, you're rule is?" Harry asked, excited now.

His eyes sparkled as if they were playing a fun game. Draco took a deep breath, but didn't hesitate.

"My rule is: you're not allowed to die."

Harry giggled, a feat Draco hadn't thought possible, and got up on his knees, facing Draco with a somber expression.

"I promise that I won't die," Harry said, crossing his heart.

Draco pulled Harry down onto him and kissed him and kissed him and kissed him...

Draco shook his head, bringing himself back painfully to the present. He glared through inevitable tears at the box sitting on a table surrounded by the flowers and pictures. He tried to laugh bitterly, but it came out sounding like a strangled cry. Which, Draco thought, it probably was. He looked up at the ceiling until the lights made him close his eyes and he had to look down at the floor.

"You promised me, Harry..." Draco said with his eyes closed.

But his betrayed words fell on no ears, not even deaf ones. For no one was around to hear him. Especially the one person he always thought would be there, who had promised to always be there. The one to whom his words were meant for. The one person he had learned to love. The person he would love his whole life.

Draco turned slowly and looked up at the door that stood ajar at the end of the room. He walked towards it with a heavy heart, hardly noticing that he was walking and hardly caring. When he reached the door, he paused and took one more look at the box in which his only love now lay for eternity. He didn't know what he was hoping for, searching for, waiting for. He took a deep breath and exited the church.

A man with an awkward expression on his face approached Draco and opened his mouth.

"Send me the bill. I'll pay it in full, upfront, in cash," Draco said, making a dismissing gesture to the man.

Draco spun on his heel and Dissaparated. Draco landed firmly outside of his and Harry's home. He took a step towards the door and hesitated. He hadn't even been inside the house since...

Draco walked up slowly and opened the door. He turned on the lights and looked around with a feeling of dread. However, everything looked exactly the way it always did. There were bowls and spoons in the sink, clothes in the dirty clothes hamper, and trash scattered on the floor. Draco moved from one room to the next, faster and faster, as if chasing Harry around. As if it was all a game and Harry was hiding in the next room or the next one. Finally, Draco fell to his knees, put his head in his hands and started to cry. Images of Harry ran through Draco's mind. Harry smiling, Harry laughing, Harry yelling, Harry sleeping, Harry being _Harry. _

For what seemed hours, Draco cried until there was nothing left. He pounded his fist on the floor one last time and repeated the words, "you promised..." until his voice felt hoarse. Silently, Draco stood up and wiped away his tears. He gathered a few of Harry's clothes and took them to the bed. Draco stopped when he saw that the bed sheets were still tangled from the last time they...

Shaking his head, Draco adjusted the bed and lay down on his side, clutching Harry's pillow to his chest, laying Harry's clothes around him and inhaling his scent which still lingered possessively to the fabrics. Slowly, Draco drifted to sleep. For a moment, just before darkness invaded his mind, he wondered when Harry was coming home. It wasn't until the next morning that he realized Harry wouldn't be coming home.

For the next few weeks, Draco stayed locked in his house surrounded by Harry's possessions. During the day he looked at photos and notes on scraps of parchments. And every night Draco ate a bowl of ice cream before going to bed alone.

He didn't know when he remembered that alcohol soothed the heart, but he wasn't often without a bottle of some sort of expensive, wizard's liquor in his hand. Though it did little to take the pain away from his heart, it seemed to him that death would come sooner if he drank.

One night, he shoved Harry's clothes to his nose, inhaling deeply, searching for Harry's scent. His eyes filled with tears when he found that the fabric no longer carried his smell. They were just some old Muggle clothes that could have belonged to anybody. That night, and every night after that, Draco cried himself to sleep.

People began coming up to Draco's door and knocking or ringing the doorbell. It was Draco's or Harry's old friends coming by to see if Draco would like to come out and go do something. Every time, Draco would graciously decline. After a while, he stopped answering the door. Soon after, people stopped coming.

He received a couple owls, however, mostly from Hermione asking him over for tea or for dinner. He usually didn't even waste a bit of parchment to decline, but she kept inviting him. Finally Draco wrote her a letter asking her to please stop writing to him, at least for a little while. He didn't want to be rude to a person that was Harry's best mate, but he didn't want to go to her house. Draco hadn't expected a reply from Hermione and was dully surprised one afternoon to hear a tap on his window.

The letter read:

"Dear Draco Malfoy,

I'm sorry to hear that you will not be joining Ron and I for dinner or tea anytime soon. I understand and plan to abide by your explicit wishes to not be contacted for at least a little while. Perhaps in a month or so I will try you again. I worry about you, Draco, being cooped up in that house all the time. I know getting out in the fresh air will do you good. Please don't be a stranger.

Sincerely,

Hermione Weasley."

Draco smiled wryly at the thought of Hermione being worried about him, then laid the letter down and went back to his room. Draco lost track of the days, the weeks, and, soon, the months. He had stopped wandering around the house and stuck mostly to his bedroom and the bathroom. His house-elves tried to get him to eat everyday, but they were lucky if they got him to eat once a week.

His days were spent crying, his nights were filled with angry shouts and, eventually, crying himself to a fitful sleep that lasted a few hours at best. Most of the time he sat staring at a picture that he and Harry had taken one day spontaneously. They were full of laughter and love, never knowing that it would end so abruptly.

And then, one not so special day, he heard a knock at the door. His head barely raised itself – he hadn't the strength to take his eyes away from that photo. He raised a bottle to his lips, realizing for the thousandth time that day that it was empty. However, he didn't seem to care enough to call a house-elf, if, indeed, he remembered he had house-elves. Again, a knock sounded at the door and Draco tried to ignore it. He heard words coming through the door, but he didn't care what they were or what they even meant to him. Suddenly, the door opened with a bang. Draco wondered if it was a burglar. He shrugged to himself, hoping they meant to kill whomever they found.

"Draco? Are you here?" a voice sounded from his living room.

He considered replying, but decided against it. It didn't matter, though, for the next minute, his bedroom door was banged open. There was a soft gasp and Draco turned slightly to see who had come in to his house and his room.

It was Hermione.

"Draco? Is that even you?" She asked, coming toward him.

Draco shrugged, not really knowing the answer to that himself.

"You look terrible!" she said.

"Always the observant one, Granger," Draco slurred, raising the empty bottle to his lips yet again.

"It's Weasley, actually," Hermione remarked.

She made her way across the mess that Draco hadn't even noticed had piled up on the floor over to him. She held out a hand.

"Come on, Draco," she said.

She wasn't asking, Draco noticed grimly. He eyed her hand, wondering if this was a trick. He decided to take her hand anyway and Draco felt the sensation of Apparation. They landed on a bridge over a small creek. Draco looked around and felt tears well up in his eyes.

"Why did you bring me here, Hermione?" He asked, not bothering to remember if it was Granger or Weasley.

"Because you needed to get out of that house. I knew you would be angry if I brought you to my house, so I brought you to a place that was familiar to you and out in the open," she said.

Draco walked off the bridge towards a tree. There wasn't anything particularly significant about the tree he walked towards, except that it was extremely important to Draco. He trailed a pale, shaky hand on the bark, searching. He finally found it – the carving that he and Harry had made that day...

Draco fell to his knees, keeping his hand on that carving. He and Harry had often come to this spot. It was here that Draco had first thought of making Harry promise to never die.

"But you broke your promise, Harry," Draco found himself saying out loud.

He felt a hand on his back and he turned around to see Hermione looking down at him, tears making their way slowly down her cheeks. She kneeled next to him and took his hand again. They Apparated again, but this time Draco didn't recognize the place. Hermione took his hand in hers and led him slowly through the place. Finally, she stopped and faced him towards a tombstone. It was large and elaborate, something Harry would not have liked. But that's what you get, Draco supposed, when you're the savior of the wizarding world. His grave was overlade with flowers and gifts. Draco looked at all of them, wondering who had brought them all.

After a while, he turned to Hermione, grabbed her hand, and Apparated them elsewhere. She protested slightly, but he held up a hand. They were in a beautiful forest. Draco began searching for something as Hermione watched. Finally, he held up a beautiful, reddish orange flower. Hermione gasped as he took her hand and Apparated them back to Harry's gravesite.

Draco strode forward hesitantly and, after kissing its petals, laid the flower over Harry's grave. He stepped back to stand with Hermione. Draco didn't even realize he was crying until he felt his tears on his chin. He sniffled loudly, like a child, and turned to face Hermione.

"What am I going to do without him, Hermione?" He asked helplessly.

She sighed and gathered him in an awkward hug. Draco hesitated before wrapping his arms around her.

"Live, Draco. That's all you can do," she said, pulling back.

"You know Harry wouldn't want to see you like this. He would want you to be happy and keep on living without him. He wouldn't want you to completely put your life on hold just because he'd died. If you believe in some kind of afterlife, then Harry is there, waiting to hear all about your adventures that he didn't get to be a part of," Hermione said.

Draco mused on that as he stared at Harry's tombstone. If there is an afterlife, Draco thought, then Harry's there, waiting for me. And if there isn't... Draco shook his head mentally. There has to be a place for you, Harry, Draco thought. You're much too good to just become a fertilizer for this rotten place.

And, with conviction, Draco returned to his life. He cleaned his house. He started visiting his parents more. He got a job working at a shop in Diagon Alley selling Quidditch equipment. He checked up on Harry's godson to see if he was alright. He gave money to good charities. He lived his life to the fullest every day. And when the time finally came that he found himself lying in a private wing in a hospital, he looked out the window to the bright, blue sky and said with his last, dying breath, "I'm coming, Harry. I promise."

* * *

The End


End file.
